


Whispering Memories

by HiddenEye



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Older Characters, futureverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 09:52:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10614465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenEye/pseuds/HiddenEye
Summary: “Senior Officer Takashi Shirogane,” he muses. Shiro raises an eyebrow in response. “Been awhile since I last saw you sauntering down the hallways of Galaxy Garrison, scaring cadets to death with your obnoxious charismatic attitude.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> I need me some floof

There's something nostalgic about this.

 _This_ being the clothing that carries his success, his used-to-be pride and joy of when days have only been filled with simulations and important meetings, of dewy eyed cadets who look up to him and his older peers’ satisfaction when their eyes find themselves attached to the gleam of his badges.

Running a hand across the covered uniform, still wrapped and folded in the ziplock bag they've put, Shiro feels the way his body slacks against the wall of the cabin in resignation, his mind not yet caught up with the fact that _his_ belongings he left at Garrison are in the box in front of him, that he's actually seeing them again after forgetting them all.

Finding his boots and old civilian clothes hasn't been much of a shock, but seeing the uniform buried at the bottom of the cardboard box makes him pause long enough, causing Keith to lift his head from where he's been buried under the sink with slight worry.

Shiro realises then he's been too quiet.

Running his fingers down the collar again, the routine he does whenever he’s required to show what he earned comes back to him in a trickle of memories.

There's the heat of freshly ironed uniform in his hands, the whisper of skin as he slips into the sleeves with his right arm before the left, buttoning down with quick fingers in front of the mirror as his eyes naturally draw themselves to the tablet on his bed, blinking with notifications.

It's fastening his cuffs, tightening the laces of his boots before he swipes the tablet from the thin mattress - not before making sure his dark forelock is neat in place, brushing the strands with his fingers until it's tamed. And then he's walking out of his room with a slide and lock of his door, checking through his messages among other officers as they walk past him.

Rinse and repeat.

This used to be his daily routine in the morning, and it’s almost to the point of military that he feels the dull disbelief licking against his sternum at just how _systematic_ he’s been when he’s still bubbling with curiosity, still determined to make himself be the best, to be one of those who inspired him to reach further, to go for more.

It's jarring. He doesn't remember being that inspired.

He tears the plastic away to run his fingers on the material itself, just to have a feel of it again, and Keith leans his hip against the counter while he wipes his wet hands with a rag. “You found your stuff.”

The statement makes Shiro look up from where he's on the floor, and he sees the careful blank expression on Keith's face while he eyes the box - the scar that runs across his left eye still glows pink even after it's been months, and both of his white and indigo irises flicker towards Shiro when he asks, “How did it get here?”

Keith crosses his arms with the cloth still in hand, and Shiro recognises it as a subtle show of self defence. “Your mother didn't want to look at it again,” he begins. “She let the Garrison take it; whether to hang it as an honour or throw it in the dump. Whichever they wanted.”

Shiro looks down at the uniform with a furrow of his brows. “Then, how do you have it?”

There's a pause, and a small sigh escapes. “I don't know,” Keith admits quietly, his fingers tightening around his elbows. “I was already leaving, and then I saw it wanting to be shipped off into a truck with the rest of your stuff.” He thins his lips. “I guess I lost myself for a moment there and just grabbed it without thinking.”

Hearing Keith getting expelled isn't something new, where the man himself told him about it the moment they've mend the drift between them after months of careful threading around each other, and hearing this type of soft honesty still makes Shiro warm all over.

Standing up, he makes his way towards the bedroom with the top in hand, feeling Keith's curious gaze as he follows behind him with tentative steps.

Shiro slips into the uniform once he stands in front of the speckled mirror, seeing his reflection following his movements as he tugs the uniform over his white shirt before buttoning it down.

Keith stands beside him as Shiro runs a hand down his front, an arm snaking around his waist while Keith hooks his chin on his shoulder, head tilted to the side so that his forehead rests against the side of Shiro's neck as both of them study the piece. “You look different wearing it now.”

“Been a while,” Shiro murmurs back, buttoning the cuffs as well. “It's a bit tighter than the last time I remembered.” He stops, lips thinning. “I'd have the Galra to thank for that.”

He let's Keith take his other wrist, where Shiro has to face away from the mirror to let Keith button the other sleeve. “Senior Officer Takashi Shirogane,” he muses. Shiro raises an eyebrow in response. “Been awhile since I last saw you sauntering down the hallways of Galaxy Garrison, scaring cadets to death with your obnoxious charismatic attitude.”

“I never saunter,” Shiro protests, but the corner of his lips twitches up. “and the charisma is something made up by everyone so that they would be comfortable enough to dump me with all the work instead of facing the other scary and older officers. Even Matt managed to be on that list despite being in the same term as me.”

“You walk around as if you own the place,” Keith recalls with a drag of his hands across Shiro's shoulders. “while being nice at the same time. And I had to listen to everyone ogling after you every time you entered my class.”

“And this is because I was sauntering?”

“Yeah, it's because you've been waving your ass to them as a greeting,” Shiro chuckles when Keith shoots him a pointed look, letting his hands fall to his elbows. “Golden boy making an appearance causes them to be jumpy.”

“Unfortunately, you weren't deterred.” Shiro says with a grin.

“Yet,” Keith responds lightly, and that makes Shiro let out a guffaw of a laugh as he rests his forehead against Keith's shoulder, and the other man runs his hands up until they're loosely wrapped around his chest. “Got stucked with the rest of the flock after that, apparently.”

“Apparently.” Shiro parrots, and he swallows down a yelp when Keith pokes his side.

They stay like that for a while, holding onto each other as Shiro let's his eyelids close at the warmth they share. And then, he's able to feel the small sigh Keith exhales against his neck. “You would've probably be promoted by now.”

If he hasn't been captured five years ago? Yeah, he probably would, and his family would've been proud of him that they'll probably come all the way from LA to celebrate his success. Maybe Ryou would smuggle a bottle of Sake before their parents would notice and both of them would turn rowdy from it at the end of the day.

Probably, maybe.

But that's not how it goes, and Shiro's done amazing things with Keith and the rest of their team that Garrison isn't able to provide them for. While he misses his family and the company his Garrison friends has given him the whole time he's been there, he prefers what he has now.

It's a just a memory, of what he's wearing now, and he _wants_ it to be that way.

“And you'd be beside me,” Shiro points out, lifting his head to look into his eyes. “You aren't the best pilot for nothing.”

Keith hums shortly, feigning to be distracted by an imaginary lint on Shiro's shoulder. “Maybe.”

It still makes Shiro amused at how hard it is for Keith to accept compliments, where he's able to see the way the tip of his ears are beginning to redden from embarrassment.

Shiro isn't much better though, to compliments, he means. But, he'll dodge the attempt whenever he can.

“You already are with me, anyway.”

Keith snaps his eyes towards him, and Shiro offers him a soft smile before leaning down to bump their noses together. “My right hand man.” He smirks. “Literally.”

“Shiro,” Keith warns, but the flush has creeped to the bridge of his nose, and Shiro can't help but laugh breathlessly as gives a peck on that spot. “Wearing your old uniform was a mistake.”

“Because I'm telling you the truth?”

“Because you’re turning sappy,” Keith replies dryly, but smiles as he reaches up to rest a hand on Shiro's nape while he kisses the same place again. “And touchy.”

Shiro hums, kissing his cheek. “My sun and stars,” he murmurs. “Love of my life.”

“God, stop,” Keith huffs, and Shiro can feel the heat on his skin escalating when he kisses his other cheek. “Old sap.”

Shiro leans back to pout. “Being twenty-seven is not old _._ ”

“You're going to be twenty-eight soon.”

“I'm still not that old.”

“I beg to differ.” Keith says instead.

Shiro pokes his nose as retaliation. “Rude.”

Keith scrunches his nose adorably. “Fine, you're right. You're turning seven soon.”

Snickering, Shiro plants a last kiss onto his hair before stepping back, unbuttoning the uniform. “I don't regret anything, you know,” he begins. “Leaving what I could've been, I mean.”

“Is it any different from what you are now?” Keith questions softly as he watches Shiro peal it off.

Shiro smiles wryly, folding the uniform as neatly he can while standing up. “Maybe, if you're talking about the context of one's perseverance in making sure we’re surviving out here.” He shrugs. “It's a life cycle, even fate can't do anything about it.”

Perhaps. Fate is a fickle thing, and Shiro tries to depend on what he's worked hard for instead of kneeling to it.

Then, he reaches out to brush away Keith's bangs. “Let's finish up,” Shiro mutters. “And then, we can go grab something to eat.”

Keith holds his hand in one place so that he can kiss into his palm. “The pizza place is still open.”

That pulls a smile out of him as Shiro faces away, lifting the box from the floor before settling it on the makeshift table, sorting through the contents thoroughly. “Yeah? You think Pete is still there?”

“Yeah, saw him through the windows when we were buying groceries,” Keith says, grabbing another box to sit beside him on the worn out sofa. “He's still wearing that apron you gave him, though.”

Shiro pauses, a burst of laughter escaping. “The Darth Vader one?”

“Yeah.” Keith nudges him in the arm. “Think we could bribe him into getting us free pizzas like we used to?”

“After seeing us back from the dead?” Is all Shiro asks mischievously, and Keith let's out a snort as both of them know just how loud Pete would react once he'll see both of them walking in his shop.

Shiro seals the uniform into the bag again, and he puts it back when he founds it in the first place before moving to another box.


End file.
